


double trouble

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Torchwood
Genre: (they make a lil hermann sandwich), Anal Sex, BSHCU (Buttslut Hermann Cinematic Universe), Dirty Talk, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Topping and Bottoming At The Same Time, sorry for this everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Hermann really cannot stand that obnoxious, colleague-stealing Dr. Harper. Truly.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb/Owen Harper, Newton Geiszler/Owen Harper
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	double trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ksci_janitor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ksci_janitor/gifts).



> AT LAST IT IS FINISHED!!!! for a certain someone who requested this back in the summer. this is technically a part three to these two fics in the OCU (owen cinematic universe): [part one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158402/chapters/37559384) and [part two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158402/chapters/42881831)
> 
> you don't really need to read both to understand this but like. if you're searching this ship in the first place it seems like you'd want to. the basic set-up/weak contrivance is that owen got hired by the ppdc to help deal with the alien problem and....they were labmates!
> 
> ALSO THANK U KSCI_JANITOR FOR MAKING THE FUNNIEST FUCKIN LIVEJOURNAL BANNER FOR THIS OF ALL TIME, OMG

It becomes apparent around nine or so in the evening that Hermann will not be getting any rest tonight. Not for lack of trying, certainly: he clocked out of work around seven, showered, took his nightly medication, and was dressed for bed by eight, and—after an hour of relaxing with some nice decaffeinated tea and a book—was all set for an early sleep. Which is when, of course, Newton decided to make a nuisance of himself. Whispering outside his bedroom door: a back-and-forth with a second party Hermann doesn’t have to strain himself to guess that eventually devolves into a full-blown hissed argument. Hermann sets down his book, reaches for his cane, and sighs.

He opens his door with another sigh. “You’re not being terribly subtle,” he says. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Newton has enough sense about him to look ashamed; Dr. Harper, on the other hand, does not. He just sort of…leers a bit. Bloody bastard. “Hey, Hermann,” Newton says. “Sorry to…” He looks down at Hermann’s pajamas. “…Wake you up?”

“Not quite, unfortunately,” Hermann says. “Or perhaps fortunately. I don’t imagine I’d be as polite if you had. What do you want?”

“Well,” Newton says. He looks at Hermann, then at Dr. Harper, and then back at Hermann. Things have been terribly tense in the laboratory lately, ever since—well— _the incident_ , and Hermann is suddenly struck with the realization that this is the first time Newton hasn’t shied away from his gaze in over a week. He thinks the same may be true in reverse. (It’s difficult to look at his lab partner and not recall the sight of those pink lips wrapped around his prick, his ejaculate— Er.) “Owen and I have been…talking.”

“Yes?”

“Newt here wants a round two,” Harper says, leaning his shoulder against Hermann’s doorframe.

Hermann makes to close the door, but Harper is faster; he blocks it with his foot. Newton pokes his head in. “C’mon, Hermann,” he says, blinking shyly, “it could be fun?”

“Yeah,” Harper says, mockingly. “C’mon, Gottlieb.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermann says

He opens the door.

It’s the allure of engaging in more intercourse with Newton that does Hermann in. Or so he tells himself. By God, every part of Newton is intoxicatingly exciting, and Hermann is transfixed by him the very moment they tumble to his bed; the shirt he strips off reveals a lovely expanse of colorful chest, the jeans and boxers a marvelously round arse, and his mouth—his mouth on _Hermann_ ’s mouth— “Hn, fuck,” Newton gasps, pulling at Hermann’s hair. “Do it—more. Use—yeah.” Hermann pushes his tongue past Newton’s lips, and Newton moans wonderfully as he sucks on it. Hermann moans, too.

The unfortunate part, of course, is that he doesn’t have _just_ Newt in his bed. To his right, Dr. Harper is hovering and breathing down their bloody necks, stripped down to his _low-rise jeans._ His chest is smooth and marvelous, damn him. It's hardly a wonder Newton's been scarcely able to leave his bed since the PPDC hired him. “Don’t hog him,” he complains. “I want a go.”

Hermann has half a mind to snap at him for his impatience— _he’s_ been shagging Newton all damned month, it’s Hermann’s turn for a change—but Newton pulls away with a pout. “ _Fine_ ,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

“Newton,” Hermann says, wanting very much to continue what he and Newton were just doing, “what—?"

Dr. Harper’s fingers grip his jaw; he angles Hermann’s face towards him, and kisses him in a way that is _certainly_ too messy to be enjoyable. No, Hermann loathes every moment of it—he loathes the way Dr. Harper nips at his mouth with his teeth, and tangles his fingers (long, and so like Hermann’s) in Hermann’s hair to tug at it harder than Newton had, and wedges his knee between Hermann’s to press against him. He is not enjoying it at _all_. The idea is preposterous. “I told you he’d be up for it,” Owen—Dr. Harper—says, parting from Hermann with a snort. He’s looking at Newton. “Listen to him— _moaning_. Bastard’s got a hard-on the size of—"

“I’m _not_ ,” Hermann protests breathlessly. He wets his lips, his heart leaping to his throat when he feels the indentation of Owen’s teeth on them. The man could bloody well kiss. He suddenly becomes aware he’s sandwiched between them; Newton is no longer straddling his thighs, nor is he straddling Owen’s, as Hermann believed he would do next, but has instead pressed himself against Hermann’s left side. “What,” Hermann says again, as Newton’s fingers begin to creep up his chest. “What are you—?"

Newton kisses his neck. “Just relax, dude,” he murmurs. “It’s your turn this time. If you want it, I mean.”

“My—?" Hermann says, but Owen steals the words with another probing kiss. Newton begins to unbutton his pajama shirt. “My turn?” Hermann gasps.

He feels the cool air of the bunk on his skin as his shirt is pushed to the sides, and he shivers as Newton’s fingers trail back up to graze over his nipple. His cotton pajama trousers have become unbearably tight; his condition is hardly helped when Owen begins rubbing his palm in circles over their front, pausing only to press his thumb in against a slowly-growing wet spot. “Oh, by _Jove_ ,” Hermann says. He clutches at one of their arms—he’s not quite sure whose. “Ah, you’re—"

“Haha, cool,” Newton says. He kisses Hermann’s neck again, and then his mouth. To Owen, he says, “Stop teasing him already, dude, and—”

“Nah,” Owen says. “Too fun, isn't?” He palms harder at Hermann’s pajama trousers, and Hermann’s head falls back with a whimper.

“Please,” he’s shocked to find himself begging. “Oh—”

“I got it,” Newton says, softly, and he gives Hermann a lingering kiss before slipping down his body. There’s another kiss pressed over his pectoral; to his abdomen; finally to the waistline of his trousers. Newton bats Owen’s hand away and pulls them, and his undergarments, down himself. Then he mutters something to Owen.

“What?” Hermann says. His pulse is racing too loudly in his ears for him to hear much of _anything_. Owen hands Newton a small bottle.

“You’ve done this before, right, Hermann?” Newton says, holding up the bottle. It’s lubricant. “At least you, like, know what I want to do?”

Hermann bristles. “ _Yes_ ,” he says. “I’m not a bloody—”

Newton swallows down his prick; Hermann clutches his hair at once with a sharp cry. Oh, it feels even better this second time, now that he doesn’t have to share with the horrible Dr. Harper—now that it’s just him, and Newton, and his prick in Newton’s pretty mouth… “I’ve got one, too, if you’d like to return the favor,” Owen says, poking his smug face into Hermann’s view. He's rubbing at the front of his low-rise jeans.

Hermann scowls. “I don’t think _that_ is very likely,” he says. Below, Newton’s laughter vibrates through his prick, and Hermann struggles to keep his hips from jerking forward. It doesn’t seem very polite to bugger Newton’s face right now.

“Only joking,” Owen says, and he drags the fingers of his other hand through Hermann's hair. “Newt?”

“Mm?” Newton hums.

“Hurry it up.”

Newton gives him a thumbs up, and tugs Hermann’s bunched-up trousers and briefs down further before patting Hermann’s knee; Hermann realizes he’s meant to handle it from here, and does a subpar job of wriggling out of them. Newton pops off his prick. “Okay, tell me if it gets uncomfortable,” he says. His voice is raspy, and Hermann shivers pleasantly a the thought that _he_ was the one to make it that way.

Hermann had not been lying when he told Newton he knew what Newton had in mind, nor when he told him he’d done it before, but he’s surprised nonetheless when Newton prods a lubricant-slick finger into him without so much as a warning. “ _Bugger_ ,” he gasps. “Not so fast with it. Ah—”

“I got it, I got it,” Newton says. His eyes, gone dark with lust, dart up to Owen. “Gimme a hand?”

Owen slips smoothly down Hermann’s body and stops next to his thigh, leering up at Hermann all the while. “Hand?” he says. “Or—?"

He dips his head down and takes Hermann’s prick—still slick with Newton’s saliva—into his mouth, managing to bloody _smirk_ while he does it; Newton’s fingers, meanwhile (Newton's thick, marvelous, callus-hardened fingers) continue to work him open. “How’s that?” Newton says. He slips in a second finger, crooking it to explore and press against his walls. Owen, meanwhile, teases his tongue into Hermann’s slit. “Does that feel better?”

A great red blush is spreading down Hermann’s chest; a hot, electrifying tension is building in his gut. He throws his arm over his eyes, too embarrassed to watch the two men below him, and nods frantically. “ _Yes_!” 

Owen brings him to the brink of orgasm twice; both times, he pulls away before Hermann can achieve it, shaking his head and _tsk_ ing as if to reprimand him. “Not yet, love,” he says.

“You’re a bastard,” Hermann moans. Newton laughs, and crooks all three of his fingers. “Oh— _both_ of you.”

“Be a lot more convincing if it wasn’t for this,” Owen says snidely, wrapping his fingers around Hermann’s frightfully stiff prick. He gives it a light squeeze. “You are _certainly_ enjoying yourself.”

“Done,” Newton declares. He pulls his fingers from Hermann and wipes lubricant off on Hermann's comforter. (The comforter that Hermann just cleaned. Newton _will_ be paying for Hermann's next trip to the Shatterdome laundromat.)

Hermann’s prick twitches in Owen’s hand. By Jove, if he didn’t want Newton in him _now_ , he might be tempted to beg that wretched man for something he’d regret. As it is, he merely begs Newton. “Please,” he says. “Oh, please, don’t—”

But Newton does not spread his thighs and press into him as Hermann so plainly needs. On the contrary, he removes his boxers, spreads his _own_ thighs, and sinks down onto Hermann so quickly Hermann scarcely has time to react. He grabs at Newton’s thigh with a shout an. “Got myself ready earlier,” Newt grunts. He tosses his head back as he bottoms out, his voice going high and thin. “Oh, _shit_. Shit. That feels good. Is it good for you, too?”

Hermann nods, mouth hanging open, not trusting himself to speak.

“Right, make room, then,” Owen says. He pops into view over Newton’s shoulder and presses a kiss to it, then slides one of his hands up Hermann’s thigh. “On your sides, I think.”

“Hermann?” Newton says, “is it cool if Owen—I mean, you know.”

Owen is gripping at his own prick, now, slickened with lubricant; he waggles his eyebrows and leers at Hermann. “I _know_ you’re dying to have a go at me,” he says.

Hermann is not. Hermann nods, and moans, and rolls to his side eagerly when Newton guides him and shifts Hermann's left leg up over his thigh, still buried to the hilt in Newton’s pleasantly shaped arse, and is distracted by equally-pleasant kisses from Newton as Owen fits himself against Hermann’s back and pushes into him with a grunt. “Bloody Christ,” he groans. “You really are a tight-ass, Gottlieb.”

“Surprised anything else fits up there,” Newton says against Hermann’s mouth. He rolls his hips back with a little squeak. “Y’know. With the—the stick up it. Haha.”

“You’re all terribly amusing,” Hermann says. “I can scarcely contain my laughter.” Newton’s arse is devoid of tattoos, which Hermann had not expected, but it looks lovely all the same—two freckled little globes that Hermann wants nothing more than to grope at. He doesn’t, though, for fear of being teased; he fixes his face into a stern scowl instead, and digs his nails into the soft flesh of Newton’s thigh.

Owen’s hand drifts up Hermann’s chest to tweak lazily at his nipple. He’s not moved yet—he’s at least courteous enough to allow Hermann a brief period of adjustment. Newton, on the other hand, has scarcely been courteous in his life, and most certainly never patient. “Move already,” he says, wriggling his arse around. “Fuck me, dude, let’s go. Let’s do this. I’m ready, baby.”

Hermann presses his forehead against the back of Newton’s neck with a whimper. It all feels too damn good—Newton squeezing him, calling him _baby,_ Owen splitting him open, pinching across his chest... “Bugger,” he declares. “Newton, I’ve—I’ve got to wait, I can’t—”

Owen rocks into him without warning; Hermann is rocked into Newton in turn. The dual sensation is nearly too much for Hermann, and he claws desperately at Newton’s thigh as Owen mouths hot behind his ear. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps.

“There we are,” Owen says, delighted. “I knew I could get that out of you.” He swats at Hermann’s arse and rocks in again. “D’you like how that feels?”

Hermann nods, letting slip a pathetic, needy whine that has him blushing and cringing against Newton’s neck. Newton laughs breathlessly. “Leg all good, babe?"

 _Babe._ Oh, goodness gracious. Hermann shivers and nods again.

He feels himself something of a ragdoll between Owen and Newton as they work out a rhythm: Owen pushes forward, and Hermann's prick is squeezed by Newton's arse, Newton pushes back, and Hermann is spread open by Owen. He goes limp when the blunt head of Owen’s prick finally nudges up against his prostate, and lets out a moan he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. “Oh, _oh_ , I—!"

“I think I’m gonna cum,” Newton says. He’s been working his hand over his own prick for the better part of the last few minutes, getting faster each time Hermann is rocked into him. “Yeah, fuck, I’m gonna do it. Are you, Hermann?”

Hermann can’t speak: Owen is grinding up against his prostate. “He is,” Owen says, smugly, with a pinch to Hermann’s nipple. His voice sounds as if it’s coming from miles away. “Let him, first.”

“Ugh,” Newton says. “I wanna— _fine_. Okay. Can I kiss you, Hermann?”

“ _Please_ ,” Hermann has the presence of mind to croak out.

Newton cranes his neck around and attacks Hermann’s mouth furiously with his tongue and teeth; the kiss, kissing _Newton_ , kissing Newton for a _second time_ that evening, is unreal enough to Hermann to send him tipping over the edge, and he spills himself (shaking) into Newton with a shout. A moment later, he feels Owen doing the same to him. “Bloody fantastic,” Owen grunts in his ear. He lets out a low, pleased hum, and pulls himself from Hermann; then, to Hermann's disappointment, he pulls Hermann from Newton.

Hermann has only a second to miss the contact before Newton is back on him, kneeling between his legs to kiss him and run his hands over Hermann’s body. Owen, spent, lazes off to the side without a care for either of them. “I wanna jerk off on you,” Newton pants against his mouth. His hand grips his prick between them, stiff and leaking, and pulls at it furiously. “All over you. Oh, fuck, Hermann, spread your legs, I wanna see what you—”

“Oh,” Hermann says, going red in the face, but obeys his request easily.

Newton’s eyes fix on his used hole—red, wet with lubricant and semen—and he lets out a final sharp gasp as he brings himself off over it. If Hermann was ten years younger, it’d be enough to set him off for a second round; as it is he merely shivers at the heat and covers his mouth to keep a truly embarrassing stream of noises from spilling out. “Holy shit,” Newton says. “Ugh. Holy shit.” He collapses on the mattress at Hermann’s other side. “Ha. That fucking rocked.”

“It did,” Owen says; he’s lounging with his hands behind his head, right at home, like this isn’t _Hermann_ ’s bed. Hermann has half a mind to snap at him to leave, but Newton chooses then to snuggle up against Hermann and nearly start purring like a damn cat with contentment, and his anger deflates like a popped balloon. Newton is very warm. Hot, even, and damp with sweat from exertion. “You lot are a right sight. Need a shower, Gottlieb?”

Hermann grumbles out a weak joke Owen making him need an _Aspirin_ that neither of them hear. For the better.

"That was so hot,” Newton says against Hermann's neck. “Wow. I want to be in the middle next. Hermann, you looked _soooo_ sexy.”

“I’ll get the light,” Owen yawns. He sits up and stretches his arms over his head. “I’m bloody beat. Where d’you keep your pajamas, Gottlieb?”

 _“_ My _—_? _No,”_ Hermann says. “Absolutely not.”

“Top right drawer,” Newton says. He kisses Hermann’s shoulder. “I can’t believe we didn’t do this until now. We could've been boning for, like, _five years_. What the hell, man?”

The light is switched off. Owen stumbles back to Hermann’s bed in Hermann’s only pair of sweatpants, and tucks himself under the edge of Hermann’s comforter. He yawns again. “'Night, then,” he tells Hermann and Newton. 

“No, _no_ ,” Hermann repeats, struggling to sit up. The bed's small enough as is; he doesn't intend to share it with, er, a _colleague_ -thief. “You are _not_ —”

Newton touches his arm. “I kinda do want to wash off a little,” he admits. “If you let us sleep here, I’ll blow you in the shower?”

“Difficult offer to turn down,” Owen mumbles.

Hermann finds he agrees. “So long as you don't hog the blankets,” he says, warningly.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at the usual spots: twitter as hermanngaylieb, tumblr as hermannsthumb, and secret nsfw 18+ twitter (where I tweet about newmann) as hermanngayszler


End file.
